It’s snowing outside; big, fat snowflakes, soft as cotton are falling down from the sky outside the window and yet Kurt is stuck inside – as he has been the whole week. It’s finally December, but celebrating hasn’t even reached his mind. He feels powerless; drained for emotions. This used to be their time. Him and … Blaine. Even thinking his name hurts and brings up the well-known anger that still haunts his inside. The feeling of betrayal, but also loneliness and sadness is eating him up and yet he can’t bring himself to move on, even though he knows he should. He can’t count all of the times Rachel has told him that there’s plenty of other fish in the sea. Problem is, deep down Kurt knows the only fish he’ll ever want is the fish that broke his heart.
Last year at this time he told Kurt, that he would always bake him cookies; promised him to kiss him everywhere he wanted whenever Kurt felt like it. This year picking up a broken heart seems like the hardest thing to do - if not impossible. This year there are no kisses and no failed batch of cookies to laugh at. This year there is no deciding to make out instead, because who wants cookies when your gorgeous, dorky and adorable boyfriend is standing right beside you with a sheepish look, embarrassed that he doesn’t know his way around his kitchen?
Kurt’s phone rings and starts to play a cheery tune. Rachel changed it a night he was working late at Vogue. He knows it was with her best intention, but everything he wants to do when it plays “Happy days are here again” is crouch into a ball and to never open his eyes again. It hurts. Like hell.
It’s probably his dad who is calling; the only one calling these days. He knows he should pick up the phone, but getting up from the bed and the countless of sheets he is buried under isn’t really that tempting and he decides to let the phone ring as long as it wants to. He’s not going to answer. Not now. Maybe tomorrow. Or another day where he isn’t feeling like the world is pitch dark or loaded with tasks he can’t fulfill, even though he knows his dad is probably just calling to chat and let him catch up on stuff happening in Ohio and Washington DC.
So let’s sing a song of cheer again / happy times, happy nights / happy days are here again!
The ringing dies and leaves the apartment with a thick silence only occasionally disturbed by the soft buzzing noise from the fridge and a tap somewhere that’s dripping.
Kurt remembers the time he first stepped into the apartment and where making it seem remotely presentable sounded like the most exhausting thing and looked like the biggest challenge ever.
He is proud of his and Rachel’s work though. He is. Bushwick is not the ideal neighborhood but he is in New York and that’s all that matters. Or so he used to think. Now everything just seems kind of bland. Everything reminds him of Blai-…him. The couch they sat on before going out with Rachel and Finn to the NYADA karaoke bar; the bed where they went to bed after the confession; the vase that once was filled with countless of red roses from Blaine – as many as the years they had planned to stay together.
But the worst thing is; even going home to Ohio wouldn’t cure any of this. Just thinking about going back to the house in Lima, and especially his bedroom, where they had shared so many moments together, loved so many times and kissed as if they where the only ones in the world and couldn’t survive without each other, made his stomach clench.
He felt homeless; even though he was lying in a building he should be calling home.

The phone rings again and Kurt groans, but a part of him is grateful for it bringing him back to reality. It didn’t do anything to dwell on things from the past.
He rubs his eyes and slowly, one leg at the time, gets out of bed. His alarm clock says its 6pm. Rachel should be getting home soon from her coffee-date with Brody (or, that is what Kurt think it is, she doesn’t want to talk much about it). Maybe he should call her and get her to grab a pizza or something on her way home. He doesn’t feel like cooking – he can’t remember the last time he felt like it.
His voice is thick of sleep and he clears his voice, not even looking at the phone’s display when he presses the answer-button. “Hi dad.”
“K-Kurt.” Silence.
He freezes. That is not his dad’s voice. That’s… that’s…
“Blaine,” he breathes shakily. Not really sure why his voice is shaken and high pitched and tries to clear his head.
Last time they talked – last time Kurt heard Blaine’s voice – was in the familiar hallways of McKinley after the performance of the annual musical. Last time they talked Kurt told him he didn’t trust Blaine anymore, and Blaine looked like he had been kicked in the stomach. Kurt didn’t feel better himself; the mix of feelings, pictures and said promises that unexpectedly showed up in his head and demanded to be felt, seen and heard was like having his heart ripped out. Once more. They brought him back to that dreadful night in Battery Park and Blaine’s tearful eyes as he sang an acoustic version of the song that meant so much to him and now doesn’t. His life isn’t a teenage dream anymore. How could it be?
The receiver on the other line doesn’t say anything. He only hears quick breaths and can only imagine Blaine sitting in his room. The hazel eyes surrounded by the long lashes looking down on his free hand, as he so often does – did? – when calling people. Maybe he’s fiddling with the border of his shirt, biting his lip as when he is lost in his thoughts and miles away.
“I know I shouldn’t call since you… you… said that you didn’t trust me anymore, but…” He stops and takes a deep breath. His voice shakes nervously. “Let me explain. Please….Kurt.” It sounds strangled, and something inside Kurt twists in agony. Blaine shouldn’t be in pain. He shouldn’t have hurt Kurt. He shouldn’t have cheated. He shouldn’t have doubted himself – or Kurt’s love for that matter. How could he? How could he ever after all the times he had convinced Blaine that he was the only one for him? How could he after all of the apartment looking and the joking (but deep down, serious) talks about getting married one day and live in a crammed little apartment with no space whatsoever but not caring since they were together and that’s all they ever wanted?
Wanted.
It hurts. Everything has to be said in past tense. Not present tense. Everything kind of just … sucks. That’s the best way to put it. Complicated. There’s no way everything is going to be easy and okay again… is there? Could he give Blaine one more chance – let him talk?
Without further thoughts, and before he regrets it, a vague “okay” slips out of his mouth.
Did Blaine even hear him?
“Okay?” Kurt hears from the other end of the phone – hesitant.
“Okay.”

-

That night falling asleep is not as hard as it used to be. As Kurt once again lays in his bed – snow still falling down outside, glittering in the glow of the street lights as if it’s tiny pieces of magic falling down from the sky – it doesn’t exactly hurt anymore.
Blaine explained. Kurt listened. They cried, they talked, and he felt that maybe – maybe one day – he could restore his trust in Blaine. But for now falling asleep to each other’s breaths over the phone is enough and tomorrow will be brighter.